


Pieno di Vita

by Elliott_Fletcher



Series: Youth (WolfStar Ship Week) [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Fights, Kissing, M/M, Romance, Wolfstarshipweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 16:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8021704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elliott_Fletcher/pseuds/Elliott_Fletcher
Summary: ("Make it better?" Always, always this question. A wound: Make it better? An essay: Make it better? An argument, chasm receding, ready to forgive. Tears welling in the eyes, hollow cheeks senza la vita. Make it better?)





	Pieno di Vita

**Author's Note:**

> Even with my technical difficulties, hpshipweeks still managed to find yesterday's fic. (Fingers crossed for today's as well) Congratulations, you are great with computers and tumblr and stuff I don't compute with! I hope you enjoy these additions to the ship week.

A held hand breaks him. He shatters to pieces when he's dropped, glued, and shattered again.

"Make it better?" Always, always this question. A wound: Make it better? An essay: Make it better? An argument, chasm receding, ready to forgive. Tears welling in the eyes, hollow cheeks _senza la vita_. Make it better?

Remus scrubs a hand over his aching pores. His skin is red from tears, eyes sanguine, veins popping and distress everywhere, not letting his opponent place a bandaid, kiss it better. His hand is in a fire; Sirius has it locked between his adept fingers, caged in the heat of blood flow. He sighs, resigned to the fate of quarrels every evening, artistic differences: only one was an artist, so it was more so the differences of an idealist and realist. He doesn't nod, but he meets Sirius's eyes for the first time in days, and that is enough.

Sirius smiles in two milliseconds, always a jar of reflexes and instinct, but his eyes are as red as Remus's. He rubs the hands in his and pecks a sticky cheek, and Remus closes his eyes and lets himself breathe deeply for the first time in weeks.

They rub each other's eyes dry, and let their faces gravitate closer. Sirius hasn't shaved, so Remus rubs his thumbs over the stubble. . . . and then their lips compress, slow and gentle, testing still waters. Sirius's long eyelashes brush against his cheekbone, and they breathe together, chests up-down, and on elbows and necks, chins, hair, skin flushed and sweaty. Perspiration adheres itself to Remus's collar bone, and Sirius's hands fall there moments later to swipe at it. Sirius pulls away to better hold Remus in his arms, and then he tucks his head into his neck, wrangles his arms under and around, and squeezes Remus's vertebrae together.

"I apologize." Sirius says, truer than the first time, shouted, vexed. Remus nods, smiling slightly, only half, yet full of mouth, half of emotion.

"I forgive you," Remus replies into Sirius's hair. Their words feel _pieno di vita_ , whispered to each other and back. "Always."


End file.
